


Metronome

by allfinehere



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allfinehere/pseuds/allfinehere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: After a nearly disastrous case, Sherlock and John share a tense taxi ride back to Baker Street. With emotions running high, they finally arrive back at 221B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Metronome

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the first Let's Write Sherlock challenge on Tumblr. Just a short scene, but fun to do.

The rain drummed a quick staccato beat into the exterior of the cab as it pulled up to 221B. John threw himself from the vehicle and stormed into the building, leaving an icily calm Sherlock to pay the cabbie. He handed the bills to the cabbie, who gave him a sympathetic glance. "Just a little domestic, luv. I'm sure you two will work it out," she offered encouragingly. Sherlock simply glared at her and stalked up the steps to their home. 

This was not how the night was supposed to have ended.

Generally after an exciting case, the two of them could hardly keep their hands off one another until they were in the privacy of their flat. This time, however, John had pressed himself against the door of the cab, as far away from Sherlock as he could get. Sherlock had made an attempt at contact by resting his hand on John's arm, but John had stiffened and Sherlock quickly withdrew his hand, confused. John never acted like that. He was always open and welcoming to Sherlock's touches. Something different had happened during this case. And Sherlock didn't know what.

When he entered the kitchen, John was angrily making tea, knuckles white where he gripped the kettle too tight and counter wet where he had spilled water. There was only one mug sitting on the counter instead of the usual two. "John," Sherlock tried softly, hoping to cajole John into telling him what was wrong. When he received no answer, he placed himself directly in John's field of vision and between him and the milk. 

"Get out of my way, Sherlock," John growled. "I don't want to talk right now."

Sherlock remained where he was and grasped John's upper arms. "You're angry with me. Why?"

"The fact that you even have to ask that is reason enough," John frowned, and pushed his way past Sherlock to the fridge. 

"This case was no more dangerous than the others. Less dangerous than some, in fact," he pressed, determined to get to the bottom of this. 

John rounded on Sherlock. "I can take care of myself," he shouted. "I would have been fine! You - what you did - you could have _died_." John clenched his fists and held his arms at his sides. Slowly Sherlock reached forward and took one of John's trembling hands in his own and unfolded the fingers, then pressed a kiss to John's palm.

"You could have died, too," he said quietly. "And I cannot allow that."

John frowned, but didn't pull his hand from Sherlock's grasp. "I was a soldier, Sherlock. I knew what I was doing," he protested.

"Having the proper training does not make you invincible, John," Sherlock replied. "And if you had died, I would have been lost. There would be no coming back for me," he admitted quietly, gaze trained on John's hand. 

It was a truth it had taken Sherlock a long time to come to terms with. He was always aware that John was good for him in some capacity, but he hadn't realized that John was essential to his well-being until it was too late to back out. He had agonized over it until he was forced to accept that he needed John and he might as well make the best of it. That was when he had allowed himself to become romantically involved with his best friend, and he had not regretted it for a single moment. He felt more alive, as if John had filled in a part of him he couldn't manage on his own and made him whole. Sherlock had been broken and John put him back together again, which was why Sherlock had done what he had done tonight. Losing John was unacceptable.

"You're - you're my metronome, John." When the smaller man gave him a confused look, Sherlock continued. "You see, if a musician cannot consistently internalize a beat he may use a metronome to help him keep in time. You are my metronome," Sherlock said in a strained voice that pleaded with John to understand. "Without you I lose the rhythm, I can't keep up. Parts of me go too fast while others lag behind. I need you to set me straight," he finished, his voice quiet and broken.

After a moment of tense silence, John stepped forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Sherlock's lips. "I'm sorry. It's not fair of me to expect you to let me protect you and not let you protect me. I suppose -" His thought was cut off by Sherlock's lips on his, warm and insistent and relieved. Wrapping his arms around John, he pressed him back into the counter as he kissed, then buried his face in John's neck and breathed him in, oil from the abandoned garage and rain and tea. When he pulled away, John offered a small smile. "Bed? I'm a bit too old to be shagging on the kitchen floor anymore."

Sherlock returned his smile. "Nonsense. We did it just last week," he replied, delighting in the faint blush that crept over John's cheeks. 

"Come on, then," John said as he interlaced his fingers with Sherlock's and led him to bed.


End file.
